


the sacred simplicity (of you at my side)

by leigh57



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 14:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5051197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh57/pseuds/leigh57
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And she almost lied, almost said, <i>Yeah, I'm fine</i>, because those words would roll off her tongue like honey and the truth stuck in her throat so badly it hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sacred simplicity (of you at my side)

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I blame @youwereneveraslicebitch (on tumblr). The fic title comes from Vienna Teng's gorgeous "Eric's Song." And thank you so much to @adrenalin211 for reading at the last minute and giving fabulous suggestions as always. My usual smush warning applies here.

She grabbed the bar of weird fruity soap (the dusty cardboard package said 'tangerine,' but it smelled more like somebody had thrown every citrus fruit in existence into a blender) and scrubbed it across the faded green washcloth, quick back and forth until bubbles began to rise out of the terrycloth. The water cascaded over her face, into her eyes, and she closed them for a second, letting the heat wash down her scalp in an attempt to dull the throbbing that had been keeping time in her temples since she'd forced herself to sit down and play an entire game of Stratego with Sam earlier that afternoon.

She sighed, water dripping into her mouth.

_Small steps._

Small steps mattered, right?

She heard a door slam downstairs, Carl's muffled voice yelling something about fresh deer for dinner.

God, she didn't know anymore.

So she just scrubbed at her face with the orange-tinted soap until her skin felt wide awake and tingly, until the smell soaked into her senses and made her forget the almost inescapable scent of walkers when she'd gone out beyond the wall to teach Olivia to shoot a few hours earlier.

She was so deep in thought that the soft tap on the door made her jump; she reached for her knife (resting in the shower caddy right beside her, as always), all automatic instinct.

"Y'mind if I come in?" Daryl spoke through the still-closed door, soft, and as her heart slowed down from the moment of frantic acceleration she couldn't help smiling. Even now, he'd never so much as turn the knob without express permission.

"Have I ever said no?" she asked, rubbing at the edge of her eyes and hoping maybe the brisk facial scrub had made her look a touch less tired.

He slipped in the door and closed it behind him; she could see his outline through the hilarious pastel whales that decorated the shower curtain, their little tales curving up in cheerful purple and green. "Doesn't matter. 'M'still gonna ask." He paused, and she could hear the sink running. A second later his hand appeared around the corner of the shower curtain. "Brought you some Advil."

"How'd you know-"

He chuffed. "You're doin' that thing where you hold your head real still." His other hand appeared, holding a glass of water. "And you're not takin' deep breaths."

She accepted both of his gifts, rolling her eyes even though he couldn't see her. Shoving all four pills into her mouth, she took three huge gulps of water and said, "I should probably find it creepy that you notice how I breathe, but-"

"I didn't mean-"

"Daryl." She pulled back the shower curtain and pushed the soap away from her face enough to focus on him. "Stop." She gave him a tired grin that was her current best shot at a vaguely flirty look. "I think it's adorable. And my head is pounding, so thank you."

"Wish you'd slow down a little," he muttered, turning back toward the door.

_Slowing down is the reason I've got this shitty headache_ , she thought, suddenly realizing how much she didn't want him to leave, how much she wanted to feel his hands on her face and hear his voice instead of the judging, accusing silence.

"Wanna get in with me? Help me wash my hair?"

His eyes widened. "That's not why I came up here."

"I know." She could feel her throat going achy. (The movie in her mind played Sam's little face, scrunched up in concentration as he contemplated his next move, his hopeful but uncertain voice saying, _That was really fun. Maybe we could play again next Tuesday, but only if you want. You don't have to._ )

You don't have to.

"You okay?" Daryl's worried words pulled her back into the steam-clouded room.

And she almost lied, almost said, _Yeah, I'm fine_ , because those words would roll off her tongue like honey and the truth stuck in her throat so badly it hurt.

But it was Daryl.

And she was too tired to lie, this time.

"No."

The look of panic that washed over his face made her regret the single syllable immediately. "Could you just get in with me for a few minutes?" She opened the curtain further in invitation.

"Okay." He stripped in about three seconds, t-shirt yanked over his head, jeans and boxers on the floor. Stepping into the steaming water, he sucked in air and exclaimed, "Fuck, that's hot!"

She smirked as he shuddered, sticking his head under the showerhead to adjust. When he was sufficiently soaked, he pushed his damp hair back off his face and studied her. "What's wrong?"

The water rushed in her ears as she tried to figure out how to answer him, but after a second passed with no lightning bolt of inspiration, she just walked straight into his chest and wrapped her arms around his back, her face pressed into the warm curve of his neck. He didn't move at all for a long beat, and then he drew her closer, his hands gentle up and down the tight muscles of her back, lips touching her hair with light kisses. She relaxed into his hug, turning her face so she could rest her cheek on his shoulder and just . . . be.

He continued his massage, fingers pressing into the tightness of her lower back. "Tripped on a branch when I was dragging that damn deer back. Twisted my fuckin' ankle."

"Are you okay? Do you need me to wrap it?"

He shook his head, an indignant huff escaping. "Gettin' old. It's bullshit."

"Tell me you took something." She pulled back just far enough to look at his eyes.

"Yeah, but only 'cause Denise said it would swell if I didn't." He kissed her forehead and added, "And you'd yell at me."

"I don't yell!" she retorted halfheartedly, snuggling back into the warmth of his body.

"You know what I mean." He tickled her side until she laughed and shoved his hand away. "You'd give me the look. 'S'way worse than yelling."

"You're ridiculous," she informed him, grinning even though she tried not to.

After a few minutes, he murmured, "Turn around. I'll wash your hair." And he did, strong skilled fingers working magic as he massaged her scalp and the knotted muscles at the base of her neck. When he was done, he tilted her hair back into the water and rinsed all the suds away, pulling her back against his chest when the last orangey-white bubbles had washed down her arm.

He alway knew, somehow, when to push and when to wait.

"I played Stratego with Sam for a couple hours this afternoon," she blurted suddenly, and her breathing was quick again.

Daryl slid his hands down her arms and laced his fingers with hers, crossing both their arms over her chest and pulling her even closer. The water slid off his chin onto her shoulder. Downstairs, she could hear pans banging and Michonne yelling something about Old Bay seasoning.

"D'you wish you hadn't?" he finally asked, his voice low and soothing, his body almost rocking hers back and forth beneath the water now.

"No, it's good that I did. He needs-" She swallowed and shut her eyes, trying to remember that the waves of sharp sadness didn't have to be terrifying. Trying to remember that she was safe.

Right here.

Right now.

"More worried about what you need," Daryl muttered, leaning to kiss her shoulder.

She didn't try to stop the tears that joined the water sliding over her face. Instead, she took deep breaths and tightened her fingers over Daryl's until she could feel the contours of his knuckles, solid and comforting.

"I needed it too," she whispered, some of the tension easing out of her shoulders with those four words.

"Good."

They stood there for a little while longer, her eyes closed as she leaned back into him until he was practically holding her up. Finally he pulled her upright and reached past the curtain for a towel. "Dinner's not gonna be for at least an hour. Wanna take a nap with me?"

"A naked nap?" She lifted her arms to let him wrap the pale green towel around her.

"Fuck yeah, a naked nap. Is there any other kind?" He smirked, giving her the raised eyebrow that helped create one of his most irresistible expressions.

But as quickly as the laughter had flashed across his face, it was gone. "I'm kidding. I mean a nap, nothin' else." He reached out to catch a trail of water slipping out of her hair, dabbing it with his towel. "You're exhausted."

She studied his face for a moment, soaking in the way that his entire being was focused on absolutely nothing but her. She still wasn't used to it, wondered if she ever would be.

Grabbing his hand, she pulled him toward the bed, dropping her towel over the back of a chair on the way. "Why don't we compromise?" she said, everything inside suddenly lighter, clearer.

Easier.

"We’ll start with a naked nap and see what happens."

He shook his head, a slow smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he reached down to pull back the sheet. "Just so you remember, it wasn't _my_ fault what happened the last time you said that."

She laughed, crawling under the covers and wiggling towards him until she could slide her ankle between his shins and rest her hand on his chest, feel the in and out of his breathing under her fingers. She dropped a kiss on his collarbone. "Don't worry. I remember."


End file.
